


Vetr

by halfhardtorock



Series: The Seasons [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Pregnancy Kink, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-18 10:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfhardtorock/pseuds/halfhardtorock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lagertha joins him, even throws a wool-thick arm around his shoulders and says "It is only just beginning, priest. Soon the snow will come. And come. And come. And we'll all burrow together like animals under the furs for warmth."</p>
<p>He frowns at the idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vetr

**Author's Note:**

> My knowledge of viking lore and traditions is very basic. (It's what I could find on google.)

Hodhr breathes winter over the farm, drawing white from their lungs like smoke. Athelstan has never known such cold that would freeze a sheep fast to the heath overnight that you would need an ax to break the ice from around its wool.

He is patient holding the bucket of grain as Gyda scoops red-hands full to feed the goats. He shivers and notices on the far hill, the girl who has come again to look down at them in the paddock, watching them work.

"Gyda," he says softly and she looks too, her little mouth turning down. "Who is she?"

"It is Bild's dottir," she says, frowning. 

Athelstan watches the girl watching them for a long while before he asks "Why is she there? Why does she come?"

Gyda snorts, face dark. "She would have you."

Athelstan looks at her, startled. "What do you mean, _have_ me? She can be no more than your age."

Gyda gives him a funny look. "She bleeds. She will be old enough in a year. And if they take you now, you can warm their bed for the winter months."

Athelstan's mouth opens soundlessly as Gyda finishes and claps her dirty hands off on her wool cape.

 

They eat at the same table, elbow to elbow. There was a time when Athelstan would keep his body tucked tight, but now when Ragnar sits beside him, they knock together, shoulder to shoulder and he gives Ragnar a little jab with his elbow to Ragnar's side. 

Ragnar doesn't even look at him, but jabs him back sharply, a small smirk on his lips before he fills his mouth with ale. 

Lagertha fills plates for her son, her daughter and then for Athelstan, who gives her a sheepish smile that she meets with warm eyes.

She sits then and Ragnar watches with interest before he says "You will not feed me, then?"

"You can find your own," she says curtly and gives him a look that is all challenge.

There was a time when Athelstan thought they were fighting, when he wouldn't be able to find his appetite in his fear of their tensions. 

But he knows now, that this is lovemaking. Tonight, when they bed down, they will be clawing and tearing the pleasure out of each other. 

The children eat like there is nothing amiss while their parents stare at each other like swordsmen looking for weaknesses.

"Bild's dottir has Athelstan in her heart," Gyda says casually and the words burn across Athelstan's face like fire.

The tension is broken in the room as Lagertha's eyes widen and Ragnar turns to look at his daughter with open curiosity. "What is this you say?"

"Bild's dottir," Gyda says again. "She--"

"It is nothing," Athelstan interrupts and even Bjorn looks up from his fowl now, chewing slowly, listening.

Ragnar's blue eyes turn to him. Athelstan's face just burns hotter under his scrutiny. 

" _What is this you say_ ," he says again slowly, terrifyingly, eyes on him. Gyda doesn't even mark her father's anger, just says "She watches him from the hill almost every day. I think she would ask for him. It grows colder and perhaps she thinks Athelstan will make a good bedmate."

Athelstan's heart is a quick bird, darting in his chest as Ragnar's face changes from anger to something else, something like consternation.

Lagertha makes a small oath and says "would Bild be so foolish?"

Ragnar gets up, rubbing his beard in thought. He's abrupt when he stops suddenly and drops his hand on the table beside Athelstan, making their cups jump. 

"Have you...encouraged this girl?" he asks.

"...Ragnar," Lagertha says in protest.

"--have you made _eyes_ at this girl, my little priest?" Ragnar asks, breathing harshly over him and Lagertha repeats his name, sharply this time and it is all Athelstan can do to push out of his seat, trembling with confused feeling.

"I don't look. Not at _anyone_. Not _Bild's dottir_. Not anyone!"

He catches the fury in Ragnar's eyes, the clench of his jaw before he turns and goes behind the curtain to his little cot and buries under the fur.

 

He listens to their lovemaking that night, the way Ragnar's pleasure becomes audible and turns into these low, deep-throated groans. Even under his own fur and sheepskin, Athelstan shivers. Hodhr licks into the cracks of the hovel, sends his cruel, cold breath down Athelstan's shirt, down the steps of his spine. Nothing seems to keep the winter out, but when he peers through curtain at the lovers, he sees skin sheeny with sweat, dripping in the firelight like honey.

He stares hungrily from the cold cave he's made, like the very sight could warm him.

 

Ragnar makes no effort to hide that he is watching him. Athelstan puts on two layers of wool socks and then the boots and it is only when he is about to go out into the cold without a word that Ragnar claps a heavy hand down on his shoulder.

"Come. Let us be friends," Ragnar says, smiling a little. 

It is like this with Ragnar, that he thinks somehow that a man and his slave can be friends. Athelstan considers going out without a word as he had planned, but the way Ragnar waits, eyes bright... Athelstan nods slowly in agreement and Ragnar knocks a fist into him. 

"Good. Now go fetch firewood and mind yourself," Ragnar tells him and then falls lazily back into his seat with his warmed ale, crossing his feet on the table. 

 

He fishes still, in the places Lagertha goes, with her spear. But he has to crack the ice in places, where it has spread. They say soon the ice will cover the water and the snow will fall and cover the land and everything will be hidden beneath it. 

He thinks that means these little, sluggish fish too. And the ground he stands on. And the hovel and farm. And even him and his family.

He thinks that it is a strange thing, that he would now count Ragnar Lothbrok's family as his.

 

Gyda's world is full of fern groves and favorite stones, trees that have locking bowers and rabbit warrens. They play sometimes for hours in the forest. When no one is looking, he sits while she puts golden leaves in his hair like a crown.

He shows her a game with smooth stones from the river. Sometimes Bjorn will watch with a stick in his hand to slash the wet sand when he's bored. 

They play until the sun goes behind the tall trees and it grows cold.

And then he fusses the leaves out of his hair and they walk back to the farm together.

 

There was a time when God limned the world with his grace, made the trees seem to breathe, made the sun a fire to keep him warm. 

But now the world is full of Gods, Gods who war, Gods who break and shatter the rock of the world against the hard crash of the sea. 

Gods with their signs, a blackbird on the roof, smoke going the wrong way in the wind, all the acorns of the tree rotting at the center with worms. 

Gods who bring sons and dottirs and choke the life out of them again.

Gods who need armies and swords and lightning bolts and sacrifices. 

Gods who seem to break their backs for Ragnar Lothbrok.

 

"You could have been _killed_ ," Lagertha says and slaps her husband's face with a wetted cloth when he chokes on a laugh.

"There was no harm in it," Ragnar murmurs, sipping on mead, face peaceful as Floki cleans out the bloody grooves the great bear left in his hip.

He looks at Athelstan then and smiles, eyes shutting in pleasure as his lips curl. "Athelstan--" he says, but nothing more even as they wait his words.

"He's drunk," Rollo says and rolls his eyes, gets up to leave.

Lagertha watches over her husband's healing while Ragnar snoozes with nasal sounds. And then she takes Athelstan firmly by the elbow and guides him outside.

It had taken three spooked horses to drag the bear to their hovel. It's a matted, ugly mountain in the cold yard. The smell makes Athelstan cough, cover his face. 

"Help Rollo. If we're to wait for my fool husband to be well enough to do it, it'd freeze there until summer."

On the other side, deep in a bloody fissure is Rollo, scooping its guts out in his arms.

Athelstan jerks aside and vomits.

 

The snow comes first to pretty the barren trees and cover the roof. The first day, Athelstan goes out in his fur coat and looks around at the quiet peace the snow brings. 

Lagertha joins him, even throws a wool-thick arm around his shoulders and says "It is only just beginning, priest. Soon the snow will come. And come. And come. And we'll all burrow together like animals under the furs for warmth."

He frowns at the idea.

"If you go to Bild, he would give you a place in his bed, beside his dottir. Though I'm sure he farts, and she is probably a bit bony like you. It is said that Thor warns of lovers who are too bony to mate because their bodies lock together--"

"He _doesn't_ ," Athelstan says, and can't help blushing.

She smirks and tightens her elbow, drawing him closer to her side.

 

The new bear skin is spread over the family bed and now the children sleep tucked deep into one side in a nest of their own. 

Athelstan watches them from his cold bed, the way they make love while their children sleep nearby. The way Ragnar will pause to reach and, with gentle fingers, move Gyda's braid out of her sleeping face. 

And then he'll begin moving into his wife again, groaning.

 

He is drawing water from the icy river when he looks and sees Ragnar standing in his shirtsleeves, arms crossed, glaring up at the hill.

The girl is there, watching again. Bild's dottir. It makes Athelstan feel shy suddenly, not knowing how long she's been watching him bent over his work.

Ragnar suddenly turns from her and storms towards him. It makes Athelstan's fingers fumble. 

"What are you doing? _What are you doing?_ " Athelstan asks as Ragnar puts his shoulder into Athelstan's hip and _lifts_ him onto his shoulder with a snarl.

"She'll know who you belong to now," Ragnar says with a broken laugh as he carries Athelstan through the snow like a stolen maiden. 

Inside the hovel, he groans and throws Athelstan bodily into the family bed, which Athelstan scrambles out of immediately.

"Oh come, I've pillaged you fairly--" Ragnar teases and before he can stop himself, Athelstan turns to Ragnar with a little, hitched breath and _shoves_ him away.

Ragnar isn't expecting it, stumbles back and into the table. A cup spills over. His eyes are wide as they stare at each other in surprise.

And then Athelstan is on his back, moaning in pain and Ragnar is snarling over him, lip curled. He's put Athelstan on his back before, but never so quickly.

"If you think--" Ragnar begins, but Athelstan isn't done making fool choices, because before Ragnar can finish, Athelstan jerks his head up and catches Ragnar's bottom lip in his teeth.

The man stares at him after, touching at his bloodied mouth.

"S-sorry--" Athelstan tries but Ragnar just _smashes_ his forehead into his and Athelstan sees stars.

"You bastard--" Ragnar hisses and Lagertha is shouting at them, swearing. 

"You _bastard_ \--" Ragnar tries again and then winces as he's pulled away by his braids.

"What are you, animals? You fight in my home? Like spoiled dogs on the floor?! Get up!" Lagertha yells at her husband, pulling his hair.

When Ragnar is on his feet again, he jerks away from her and gives Athelstan one more bloody, hard look before he grabs his coat and walks out of the hovel.

Athelstan sighs, begins to apologize and then yelps when Lagertha fists his own short curls and draws him to his feet too. "Go to your room, priest," she growls and throws his head out of her hand.

He goes quickly, breathing harsh. Hides under his fur. 

 

They are eating without Ragnar, because the sun has set and the man has not returned home. Bjorn sits with his body turned towards the door, waiting. Face unhappy.

Gyda and Lagertha pay it no mind, eat in peace.

Athelstan stares at his stewed chicken, stomach sick with worry.

And then the man returns, pulling back the hood that covers his hair. His eyebrows are frosted finely and his cheeks are ruddy with something other than the cold. Athelstan can see, by the brightness of his eyes, that Ragnar is drunk.

Ragnar smiles at them and then sees Athelstan and his daft smile falters a little. He turns and holds the door open and another man appears beside him, takes down his own hood.

Lagertha takes one look at him and rolls her eyes. The man seems unaffected as he looks at them convivially.

"Lagertha," the big, bearded mans says in greeting.

"Bild," Lagertha says and stands to give the man a plate.

Athelstan's back straightens sharply at the realization of who the man is, and why his eyes settle on Athelstan and stare curiously.

Ragnar, face full of such earnestness, comes around the table to him. Comes to him and goes down on his knees beside Athelstan, making him ache with the awkwardness of it.

"I have spoken with Bild and he...he has come to make an offer to you, my priest," Ragnar says. And then he seems to think better of it, and changes it to " _Athelstan_."

Athelstan looks into Ragnar's blue eyes and in the depths he can see that Ragnar means this with his heart.

"Oh," Athelstan says, breathing out a held breath.

Ragnar takes his face in his palms and looks even more deeply into him, says softly so only he can hear "You will go to her. She is yours, made for you. Freya has made you a match."

It is the most foolish thing Ragnar has ever said, because he must know that the gods have made no matches for Athelstan that are not Ragnar and his family. 

He wonders for a moment, while Ragnar's thumbs just gently, lightly brush his cheeks, if Ragnar knows this and would give Athelstan away anyway. To make him happy.

It seems like something Ragnar would do. 

"I don't want to go to her," Athelstan whispers. "I belong here. With your family."

Ragnar's brow crinkles, but he shakes his head. "You belong to no one. You are a free man, Athelstan."

Athelstan swallows and sits back, moves out of Ragnar's hands.

"I am not bound to you? As a slave?" Athelstan asks, voice loud enough for everyone to hear. Ragnar licks his own lips, shakes his head, eyes on him.

"Will you say it, Ragnar Lothbrok? That I am free of my bondage to you?"

Ragnar steels himself a little, says "You are free, Athelstan. Free from bondage to me."

Everyone else is silent as Athelstan takes Ragnar's face into his own palms and says "If I am free, I am free to stay. So I stay with you and Lagertha. You are my family."

Lagertha lets out a blustery sigh or relief.

Ragnar's mouth falls open a little and he says "but--" 

And Athelstan guides his face to his and presses their foreheads together.

 

After Ragnar gets off his knees and pours himself and Bild a drink, a small hand finds his and squeezes.

Athelstan smiles at Gyda and she smiles back, eyes lit. 

Only Bjorn takes it all in with derision, giving a hard, annoyed little huff of breath and shakes his head.

 

He lies in his own bed in his night clothes, watching Ragnar pace back and forth, uncertain of himself, of his welcome.

He watches as Ragnar turn towards where Athelstan sleeps and _stares off_ into the wall like he's thinking very hard.

Athelstan lets his eyes find Lagertha, who is sitting up in the family bed, propped against the wall and looking back at him through the wall slats.

Their eyes meet and they both smile, her smile knowing and amused.

Finally, Athelstan whispers "Ragnar Lothbrok?" and the man seems to come out of it. He walks around the partition finally, his shirt off, his eyes full of wildness and awe. 

"Yes?" Ragnar asks, sounding breathless. Athelstan closes his book, gets to his feet. 

"May I come to your bed?" Athelstan asks softly.

Ragnar's eyes flicker closed and he swallows. "Yes. It is your bed too, priest."

For all his bravery, it is hard to walk across the hovel to their bed without reddening. In the firelight, he can see Lagertha bite her lip. 

She throws back the blankets to let him in, her breasts bared to his eyes.

The smell is like their hair in there, like their braids and Ragnar's beard and he trembles as he settles into her arms. Her skin is hot against every place he is bared for her, his arms where his sleeves are rolled, his throat, his cheek, his knees and shins. His hip when his shirt rides up. He gasps and she holds him tightly, helps him to bear it when Ragnar's own body settles heavy behind him.

For a moment they just curl into each other like pups, Athelstan warmed between them.

And then hot breath rifles the soft hair behind his ear and a warm wet mouth tugs at his earlobe. Athelstan sobs into Lagertha's shoulder as Ragnar sucks on his ear. 

"Monk, my little monk," Ragnar says after, breath all hot love-words. "My good love--"

For a second Athelstan can't breathe but then Lagertha's kind hands are guiding his face down her chest to her nipple. 

She arches and touches his lips with it, letting the sharp nub rub the sensitive edge of his mouth. He opens for her, takes her in and suckles by instinct. Soothes himself at her breast as Ragnar lifts his nightshirt and runs a flat, hot palm up his small chest, groaning at his ear.

Lagertha's fingers dig into his scalp and she arcs her breasts high for him with a low, womanly sound. When he realizes that his suck pleases her, his face heats like he could scald her sweet breast with his cheek. 

"I want to make _love_ to you," Ragnar tells him at his ear, then suckles it again, watching and copying the suck Athelstan makes at his wife's breast. The stimulation draws small whimpers out of Athelstan's throat, makes something in his hips spring until he realizes that he's hunching into the air the way Ragnar fucks into Lagertha.

"Priest, stop," Ragnar growls and thick fingers find Athelstan's brutal suck and pop him off her breast. Athelstan sobs, tries to go back for more but then freezes up tight and shocked when a hot hand jerks his shirt out of the way and wraps around his swollen cock, lifts it away from his body.

"Lagertha...move down--" Ragnar says breathlessly and through the haze of pleasure Athelstan sees her squirming. Ragnar's hand feels like nothing else ever has on him, brutally hot and tight and he holds Athelstan like a sword, holds him and guides him--

"--oh by the _gods_ ," Athelstan cries out as he's sheathed into Lagertha's wet cunt.

He claws at her hips as she takes him like she would her husband. The sounds he makes when he's inside her are low and deep, ones he's never made before, like he couldn't find this voice until he was buried in Lagertha first. 

She digs nails into his shoulders and rolls him under her so she can settle him in her body with satisfaction. Her back arches in approval under his fisting, clawing hands.

"Oh, he fills me up, husband--" she moans to Ragnar, who is watching with his own cock in his hand, mouth fallen open for his breath.

She rolls her hips once, twice, hands pinning Athelstan in place as she uses him.

Athelstan's eyes fall closed with a groan as he surrenders to her. She begins to fuck him, riding him hard into their family bed.

A hand fists his curls and turns his head so Athelstan has to open his eyes. Ragnar is a mess, eyes hot and bottom lip trembling as he says "Stay with us. Don't go away."

Athelstan nods against the pull of his hair and then leans in to offer his mouth to Ragnar who takes it with a groan.

"I have never felt such--" Athelstan breaks the kiss to say with a soft whine at the end. He cannot last. Being welcomed to their bed, into their arms and deep in Lagertha's body is too much for him. He bears it with soft cries, his body tightening up to release.

"Should he...not?--" Lagertha starts to ask, breathless and desperate but Ragnar rises up, takes her hair in his hand and says "No, let him. Let him spurt you. Let him fill you."

She cries out at the words, body arching sharply, head thrown back and Athelstan feels her cunt tightening around him, the secret spasms of a woman in pleasure, using a cock to come on.

He buckles at the immensity of it, shoulders lifting off the bed and he sobs as something so beautiful, so much better than he could have ever guessed, begins to flash through his body.

"Yesssss, let him. Let him make you with child--" Ragnar hisses, his own hand moving frantically on his cock, his hips hitching like he feels it too in sympathy, the way Athelstan is spending in his wife.

"Lagertha!" Athelstan calls to her in need and the way she drops her hands to pin Athelstan back in place for her pleasure makes Ragnar spend too, his face twisting in agony, hips jerking beside them.

 

They encourage him to take what he needs, so that night he moves over her twice more. The last time, Lagertha barely awakens, just sighs and wraps him in her arms. Ragnar chuckles sleepily, kisses him and coos soft lovewords where his mouth is tagged into Athelstan's shoulder until Athelstan gives up and groans out his completion.

He goes for her a third time before the sun, but she makes a noise of protest and shoves him off. Hot shame stains his face until he finds himself in Ragnar's arms, and the man is kissing his mouth.

Ragnar's beard tickles, makes Athelstan chuckle under his breath.

"Let me show you what men can do, when the women are tired," Ragnar tells him like it's a secret, eyes glittering.

And then he disappears under the furs and Athelstan lets out one startled, sudden wail when his needy cock is sunk in Ragnar's throat.

Lagertha rolls to him and claps her hand over his mouth to silence him.

 

Lagertha stumbles out of bed in the morning and then gives them both a harsh look when Ragnar chuckles at the sight of her clumsiness. Athelstan can't help but feel some sort of pride when she leans down a bit as she passes to draw her fingers up Athelstan's bare chest and over his soft, parted mouth.

"You're her favorite now," Ragnar says, rolling close, face all sleepy happiness.

Athelstan rolls too so they're lying face to face, their knees tucked together. He can't keep from smiling. It makes Ragnar chuckle again and reach to palm his cheeks, draw them forehead to forehead. 

"I thought you would want to go to Bild's dottir, have a life of your own. A wife you wouldn't have to share, children that would just be yours," Ragnar tells him in whispers.

Athelstan feels free to play with the man's braid, to say "how could you be such a fool, Ragnar Lothbrok?"

The man looks up, eyebrow risen. 

And then he snorts. "Ah. So now I have two sharp tongues to worry my ear."

Athelstan tugs him to his mouth by his braid.

 

Hodhr drops his winters blanket over the farm and outside the world is white. 

Inside the hovel, the fire burns like a happy heart and Athelstan sits with Gyda in the corner of the family bed and plays with her, walking a little wooden doll across the great bear's fur.

Bjorn naps on the other side of the bed, undisturbed.

Lagertha hums to herself as she braids her husband's hair.

When Athelstan looks up, the man is watching him with blue, blue eyes. Eyes full of heat.

Athelstan shakes his head and blushes, looks back at Gyda's doll and lets it dance in a circle to beg Eostre to send the spring's warmth back to earth.


End file.
